Experiment
by InnocentSmile97
Summary: Another one of Sherlock's experiments sparks John into a rant. Only this time the apology didn't come straight away... Sherlock/John Friendship/Bromance. R&R please!
1. Letting it all out

**Chapter 1 – Letting it all out**

Dr John Watson dumped the plastic shopping bags on top of the cluttered kitchen unit of 221B Bakers Street.

"Sherlock I'm back!" he yelled. Not that it was needed; Sherlock probably hadn't even noticed he'd gone out. As usual there was no reply, so John just pulled open the fridge door, removed the severed head and began loading the shopping into it.

When the fridge was about as stocked as it had even been, John made his way into the living room.

"BLOODY HELL!" John stopped dead in his tracks, gaping at the room. In truth, the place looked like a bomb site. And John had a suspicion that it probably was.

Sherlock Holmes gave John a mere glace from the floor and carried on with measuring out another chemical.

"Hello John." He said, as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

John stood aghast, surveying the damage to the room. Books had fallen off their shelves; the curtains were singed at the bottom; there was a black circle on the ceiling directly above Sherlock; furniture had been hastily pushed aside to clear a space in the middle of the room and the carpet in the clearing was an odd shade of brown.

"What. The hell. Are you doing?" asked John, hardly daring to believe his eyes.

"What, this?" Sherlock answered gesturing to the collection of bottles and various apparatus.

"Yes. That." said John through clenched teeth. As though he could be referring to anything else?

"Oh, just a little experiment. Seeing the effects of different chemical explosives. I've been getting rusty on recognising a type of bomb from the damage done." Sherlock looked up again, properly this time. It didn't take a genius to work out that John Watson was angry. Very angry. "Is there a problem?"

He watched his only friend take a deep breath in and out, then walk swiftly to the armchair and turn around and go back. Pacing; he was thinking as Sherlock did this too sometimes himself. But the chewing of the inside of his mouth and the clenching of the fists (a poor attempt at stress relief) indicated he was more likely to be trying to keep his emotions – frustration in this case – under control.

"Oh no Sherlock, there is _absolutely_ no problem _what_ so ever!" John said, slightly high pitched, fast paced and sarcasm dripping from every word. Even so, Sherlock could tell he was desperately trying – and failing – to not go off into a full outburst. "Oh no, it's perfectly alright that I'll have to buy another set of curtains, that the covers of my books are all bent and horrible and that we'll now get an earful from Mrs Hudson for that ceiling and carpet. You just carry on playing with your little "experiments" and leave as much mess as you possibly can because it's not you that cares about the state of your flat and not you that'll have to clear it up! But who will? Who'll have to clean up after you like a mother for her toddler? Me, that's who. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother."

"Another row with the machine by any chance?" murmured Sherlock, carrying on with his testing. "No, wait…" His eyes darted quickly from the credit card peeping out of John's top pocket that he never trusted with the self-service machines to a piece of blonde hair on his sleeve. "… One of the workers… blonde and long so female, not Katie, you fancy her, also bleached so the chavy one – what's her name? – Ah, Caitlin. Most likely a row over that credit card; it always tended to cause problems a check outs."

John seemed to have completely ignored Sherlock's deductions. He started up his rant again.

"Do I ever get any thanks? Do you ever even help me with the shopping? Have you ever even tided up in your life? No. I mean who's going to have to mend that broken lampshade?" John stomped over to it and flung his hands out, exasperatedly.

"Actually," said Sherlock, matter-of-factly, "That had nothing to do with the explosives. I tripped over it."

Again, John made like he hadn't heard him. Quite probably too wrapped up in his irritated thoughts.

"ME! All me! Is this what my life has come to? You make the mess and I clear it up. Pathetic. You are a perfectly capable man yourself! For once could you schedule in your busy mind 'make dinner' or 'tidy living room' or even 'thank John'!" John threw himself down onto the sofa and glowered at the floor.

"I can see you've not had a great day -"

"Ooh, very good deduction."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. Insulting his intellect was like treading through a mine field.

"Fine. If you don't like me so much, then why are you still here, hmm? Why don't you just go and live on your own? That way you only have to clear up your mess and I won't have yet another person telling me I'm a bleeding sociopath!"

John stood up too at that, fists clenched again.

"Look, I've had it just about up to here with you -" John held his hand up to the top of his head to illustrate his annoyance, "- and your big head and ignorance to others!"

A range of adjectives could be used to describe Sherlock Holmes, but ignorant was not one he'd expected.

"I am NOT big headed or ignorant to others thank you very much!" said Sherlock, sharply, crossing his arms defiantly.

"That was the understatement of the century." And with that John Watson marched away from a fuming Sherlock and out of the room. The stomps followed by a door bang told Sherlock he'd gone to mope about his room.

Sherlock groaned and reached for another nicotine patch before plopping himself down on the sofa.

"He'll come round." Sherlock reassured himself. "He's just been worked up at the moment… He'll say sorry soon."

He no longer felt like blowing things up. So while he waited for John's apology, Sherlock settled with correcting the TV.

~#~

First Sherlock fic! What did you think? I honestly LOVE this show. Can't get enough of it right now. (Sherlock's so flippin' clever and John's just so loveable!) Reviews would be amazing :)


	2. Waiting for that apology

**Chapter 2 – waiting for that apology**

It was astonishing just how thick the people on countdown were. Or so Sherlock thought. It didn't take long at all to get irritated enough to switch over the channel. But when he saw that pretty much the only thing on was Eastenders, he immediately turned it off.

Several more hours elapsed in which Sherlock finished an entire Sudoku book in 30 minutes, read the first chapter of one of John's novels (then got bored), tried to compose another violin song and drank about a kettleful of coffee. This last activity resulted in Sherlock still being up and making a racket at 3 o'clock in the morning.

But a lot of coffee always equals a massive buzz crash, as Sherlock soon discovered.

The hand steadying the gun he was aiming just above the door was drooping and suddenly felt weak and limp. He groaned, flung the gun to one side and clutched his aching head. His energy seemed to have been drained like water goes down a plug hole.

His brain was too… too tired to… function. Everything was fading… his memories… and his vision… an image a John was all… all until… until… black.

~#~

"JOHN! We need more toilet roll." announced Sherlock as he came out the bathroom and wandered into the living room. No reply. This was no surprise as the consulting detective knew John would most likely not be speaking to him, as per usual, after an argument. He also hadn't seen John at all since about 6 o'clock last night – it was now coming up to 12 the next day – but being avoided was again expected.

That didn't mean the detective felt reassured. On the contrary, he was a bit troubled by the fact he hadn't heard the doctor's footsteps upstairs or caught a glimpse of him making tea. He'd expected to see at least some evidence of another life form in the flat…

He gazed up the stairs from the bottom, straining his well tuned ears to try and hear the doctor typing away on his laptop or something. Nothing.

Sherlock couldn't help it. He had his suspicions but he just needed to check.

He ran up the stairs until he was a little way from the top. There he slowed down, listening and watching John's closed bedroom door. He tiptoed right up to it, his nose inches away from the wood… listening… Still nothing! The detective rested a slender hand on the cold metal door knob.

He wondered vaguely whether barging into another man's room unexpectedly would be one of those "socially unacceptable" things John kept trying to teach him about. But like many of the other things John had said on this topic, he merely brushed it aside and turned the knob.

Just as he'd suspected, it was empty. John had left, probably last night judging by fact his bed hadn't been slept in.

Sherlock stepped casually into the room, spinning on his heels to survey the whole of it. He had only been in here a handful of times yet he knew where John kept pretty much everything.

The room was simple and spacious for a flat bedroom. There were no pictures on the wall and the only photo was in a frame on his bedside table next to the black alarm clock; it had four figures in it, most likely an old one of John, his parents and Harry.

It was unusually neat for John Watson but Sherlock suspected that this had little to do with natural instinct and more to do with the fact it was the only room John had any control over!

Next to the door Sherlock had just come in was a light wood desk that John rarely used (he preferred the comfy chairs downstairs). Still, it had your average stationery on it, including a calendar, and a space was clear in front of the desk chair for a laptop that barely ever sat there. Sherlock smiled as he noticed a pile of paper clipped newspaper cuttings each relating to Sherlock or one of their cases.

But of course, Sherlock saw far more than this.

He strode over the John's bedside table and pulled open the top draw. He nodded as he saw his gun was still in there. John had gone somewhere where he felt safe so it was unlikely to be connected to Lestrade, a mutual relation or near a place that reminded him of one of their cases.

Next he flew open the wardrobe doors, which were on the opposite wall to the bed. A quick scan of all the clothes told Sherlock that some were missing. A couple of shirts, jumpers, trousers etc… Enough for about 3 days without washing. He noticed that it was the more expensive jumpers that were missing – John had gone to stay with someone he wanted to think well of him.

He checked his underwear draw too. (He again momentarily thought that John might not be too chuffed with this. Oh well. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.) All the nice pants were also gone. That made it easy; his girlfriend.

Oh, but which one? Sherlock had given up on paying attention to John's dating life just as John had given up on keeping Sherlock up to date. Even so, Sherlock couldn't help but pick up the odd facts about various girlfriends.

Suddenly he remembered briefly meeting a lady – slim, pale, freckled, red hair in a pony tail, coat from the sale section of H&M, right handed, French manicured nails – before John had taken her out somewhere. Must've been a girlfriend. She was also American and in the few moments they'd conversed Sherlock had corrected her pronunciation of "Leicester Square" and broken the news to her that Edinburgh was not in England. He couldn't explain it but she didn't seem to like him that much.

He was pretty sure that her name was Amanda and from what he recalled of the mud on her heels, she lived near Hyde Park.

So to recap, John had decided to crash at Amanda's place for about 3 nights, could be more if he decided to wash clothes, which was near Hyde Park. He'd taken his phone, laptop and various other "necessities".

John had done something similar to this a while back, when he was still going out with Sarah. Only that time he'd just grabbed his coat – not actually packed…

"Oh Sherlock, what IS this mess?" cried Mrs Hudson exasperatedly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and headed downstairs to see Mrs Hudson frowning and tutting at the mess that had so badly offended John.

"Don't worry Mrs Hudson, it'll be gone before you know it." He collapsed on to the sofa and began tapping his fingers on his leg impatiently.

"You'd better sort it young man or it'll be on your rent." She sighed and put a letter on the sofa armrest. "That came this morning."

Sherlock threw a glance at the letter. Good quality envelope, black ink, steady writing, male hand. Mycroft. Not of interest then.

Mrs Hudson was just about to totter off slowly down the stairs again when she dropped one last comment about the mess on the floor.

"I really don't know how John puts up with you!"

She may not have been the consulting detective of the pair but she was sharp enough to notice that Sherlock's tapping had stopped. Mrs Hudson turned around.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm."

"Where… where is John?"

"Out."

"Out where, dear?"

"Girlfriend's. Possibly for a few days…"

"Oh Sherlock! You haven't had another domestic, have you?" Mrs Hudson sighed and took a few steps towards Sherlock.

"No. Just a little disagreement. Nothing of concern." Even so Sherlock stood up and headed for the window, his back to Mrs Hudson. He didn't understand why but he just couldn't face her right now.

"Well, it seems to be concerning you." Why did Mrs Hudson's words hurt? Sherlock knew he didn't mind John going away for a few days as he'd say sorry soon…right? But then again, John seemed to be stubborn about this one. He'd never actually split from Sherlock for 3 days or more on bad terms before…

Mrs Hudson walked over to the window, stood next to Sherlock and put a comforting and wrinkly hand on his arm. (She would've put it on his shoulder but she wasn't tall enough.)

"I know this is none of my business but whatever argument you've had, it doesn't seem to be doing you any good. I don't know how long ago it was dear, but I think you miss him." She turned and went to the door. "Maybe you need to say sorry for once."

When Sherlock sensed she was gone he looked towards the empty door frame and thought about what Mrs Hudson had said.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn't want John to be upset with his for so long…

~#~

Reviews would be loved! Let me know what you think! Yeah I know this chap was a bit slow… :/


	3. Resistance

**Chapter 3 – Resistance**

A soft kiss on his lips woke him up. John opened his eyes groggily to find himself staring up into his girlfriend Amelia's chocolate brown eyes.

"Morning honey." She said in her soft American voice. "I made you breakfast." John closed his eyes and groaned as the sweet smell of pancakes wafted into his nostrils. Mmm… pancakes… when was the last time he'd had them?

"I'm off to work I'm afraid. Sorry I had to wake you up – your breakfast would get cold otherwise…"

"And you didn't fancy the idea of me let loose in your kitchen using up all your Weatabix!" added John winking at her as he swung his legs off the couch he'd been sleeping on.

"Well… there is that too!" laughed his girlfriend.

John lazily watched her slip on her elegant black coat as she prepared herself to face the day. As always in England, it was summer and you still needed a coat. He pushed himself up onto his feet and made his way slowly to the breakfast bar where his pancakes were awaiting.

Amelia came over to John, fiddling with her handbag.

"You know where the keys are, yes?"

"Yep."

"And you're sure you'll be ok here on your own?"

"Of course."

"And you know you can help yourself to anything for lunch?"

"Except the Weatabix."

Amelia grinned. "Even those if you desperately want!" She turned to go but then stopped and looked back at the man shovelling the delicious pancakes down like they were going out of fashion.

"By the way… I hope you do make up with Sherlock." John stopped eating. "He may be the world's most psychotic flatmate but… he's your friend. And I know I haven't seen a lot of the guy, but from what you've told me… he seems to need you."

"I thought you didn't like him much…?" said John, confused.

"Of course I like him!" retorted Amelia, offended. "I just think… he can be a little bit of a know-it-all…"

John snorted. "That's about the nicest way I've ever heard anyone put it! Usually they just say he's go an ego as big as China."

Amelia laughed again, but this time feeling slightly guilty. She checked her silver watch. "Oh gosh I'm late! Better dash! See you soon." She planted a kiss on John's cheek and walked out of the flat, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

John sighed and polished off the last of his pancake. He realised that that was the first time since he'd left home that someone had cooked him a meal. That made a change from him always cooking for him and Sherlock who never ate anything anyway!

John got up from his breakfast bar stool and wondered over to his iPhone which was lying on the coffee table in front of his "bed". He'd turned it off when he left Baker's Street last night and now he switched it on again. He lay back on the fluff pillow while his phone buzzed into life. John picked it up again, still lounging on the couch. But he sat bolt upright when he saw the message on the screen.

_11 unread messages, 5 missed calls_

"Oh Sherlock…" John groaned as he opened up the messages from his housemate and scrolled through the numerous variations of "Where are you? - SH" and "I need you. – SH". He shook his head and automatically opened a message to reply with a ruder take on "go away". But he stopped with his fingers still poised.

He couldn't give in to Sherlock. Not yet, not after only a few hours away from him! John did mean what he had said about Sherlock being ungrateful and felt that for once it was Mr Sherlock Holmes that needed to acquire new knowledge. Knowledge on how to respect a flat-mate.

Sometimes John wondered why he even put up with the guy. He was lazy, erratic, infuriating, unreliable and eccentric. So why was he still living with him? Well, apart from the obvious financial reasons, sharing with Sherlock had its benefits. Sherlock was, without a doubt, an incredible man. John had already expressed his wonder and astonishment many times before but nonetheless, they were true.

Sherlock also provided John with a means of excitement. It was this excitement and danger which John could not live without. He thrived on those moments where life itself hung on the trigger of a gun or off of London's rooftops. Without such thrills, John would be stuck in a flat all day long, crippled and with a pigeon landing on his windowsill being the most exhilarating thing that happened in a week. Sherlock had saved him in a way from this boring and tedious life and given him his means of escape.

John lay back on the sofa, remising about the various adventures he and Sherlock had experienced over the past years…

Then he shook him head violently and stood up. No! Stop thinking about all of that, you're supposed to be angry with him, remember? C'mon John, be strong and silent. Don't even acknowledge his attempts at contact. Disappear from his life and he'll soon realise just how much he needs you.

Water gushed from the tap into John's glass. John took a swig. He wasn't thirsty but he needed something to distract him.

It wasn't working. The water had already made John think of Sherlock flooding the bathroom! Oh, was this really a good idea, leaving Sherlock all alone for a few days? No wait, he had Mrs Hudson there, she'd at least make sure the kitchen didn't burn down. But Mrs Hudson couldn't do everything, could she? What if Sherlock forgot he was human and stopped sleeping or eating or drinking or breathing or, or…?

"Relax John…" John murmured to himself in an attempt to stop his worries from spiralling out of control. Sherlock was a fully-grown man. John didn't need to mother him. John took another gulp of cool water.

"Just enjoy a bit of peace and quiet, John." He whispered to himself.

But he couldn't help thinking that something was missing. Excitement.

~#~

Sorry for the really long wait! Hope you liked it anyways. I know it was short and not a lot happening so I'm sorry.

Final chapter will be coming soon, but I can't promise how soon! As always, read and review please!


	4. Dependence

**Chapter 4 - Dependence**

John had been staring at the same page in his book for a while now. He was trying to amuse himself but even the most thrilling novel wasn't working for him. Reading his book on a bench in the shade of large tree in a quiet part of Hyde Park didn't seem to be making a difference either.

He felt rather than heard or saw someone sit down beside him on the bench. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a tall, pale figure in a smart black coat. There was only one person it could be.

"I'm not going to say sorry if that's why you're here." John said, slightly more harshly than he meant it.

"That's not why I'm here."

Silence fell between them that was only broken by the sound of the wind rustling through the tree and the birds calling out to each other. Eventually John let himself ask the question he'd been wondering.

"How did you find me?"

"Mud."

"Excuse me?" said John, giving Sherlock an odd look.

"Mud. It was on your girlfriend Amanda's shoes the first time we met and I knew it was from Hyde Park. Therefore she lived around here."

"Okay…" John wanted to ask more, like how on Earth he knew the different types of mud in London and how he knew that Amanda hadn't just walked through Hyde Park on that particular day. But he refrained as he couldn't be bothered with the minor details right now. "How did you know I was even at my girlfriend's? I could've gone to Harry."

"You took your nice clothes."

"So?"

"You took your nice underwear."

Sherlock turned his head to see John blush, gape like a goldfish and finally give up on answering that.

"Well, Mr Genius, how did you know I would be in this very spot in Hyde Park?"

"Because I know you John. You're not one to sit around at home all day. And you'd most likely read or go on your laptop. You wouldn't want to do that somewhere noisy. The quiet parts of the conveniently placed Hyde Park would suit you best. It didn't take me long to find you once I was in the park."

John stared back down at his book. Sherlock rolled his eyes. It was so obvious that John wasn't reading.

After an awkward pause, John muttered;

"What do you want anyway Sherlock?"

"I came because… because… well, because I missed you."

John scoffed. "What, you finally realised that I was the only one keeping you alive by doing the groceries?"

John's words stung. Sherlock swallowed but continued on with what he'd set out to do.

"In a way, I guess, yeah." admitted Sherlock, "You do keep me alive."

"Realised that only now." grumbled John. A stab of guilt shot through Sherlock.

"You meant every word of what you said to me two days ago, didn't you?"

John nodded.

"Yet you were still planning on coming back?" When John didn't answer, Sherlock put his sceptical face in John's line of vision so that he couldn't ignore it. John didn't need to say or do anything. Sherlock could see the craving for excitement in his eyes.

"You need me John." John frowned and turned away. "But I need you too."

Had Sherlock really just admitted that? John looked up at him. From Sherlock's face he could tell that it had taken a lot for the consulting detective to say that, to admit dependence on someone.

"And not just in the way that you keep me fed and make sure I actually sleep, but you also keep me on track. When you're there you stop me from offending those I don't want to offend, from slipping back into drug habits, from blowing up half the street! However much I tell myself otherwise, you remind me that I'm human. I guess what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry. I do appreciated you."

Sherlock's little speech had left John speechless. He had not excepted something like that in a million years!

"John… please say something…" Sherlock began to worry that what he'd just said was all wrong. He'd never been very good at talking to people… maybe he'd messed this up too!

"I… You… Thank you." John said eventually. The foot Sherlock had been tapping nervously stopped and he looked relieved.

"Does this make up for everything I've done?"

"Nearly." replied John. He closed his book and got up from the bench, walking away with his back to Sherlock so he couldn't see him grinning slyly.

Sherlock looked confused for a moment – Mrs Hudson had told him saying sorry would work… what else was he supposed to do? He jumped off the bench and ran after John, catching up with him and spinning him round to face him.

"How can I make it up to you then?" John smiled.

"When I get home at 6 tonight the flat will be completely tidy, it will look vaguely normal and there will be dinner ready." John stated simply before turning around again and walking off, leaving Sherlock to work out how he was going to manage the task John had just set him.

"Oh and Sherlock!"

"Yes?"

"Tonight won't be the end of your housework."

Sherlock watched as his friend turned the corner and disappeared. At first he wanted to groan or protest; he had no idea where all the cleaning products were let alone how to make a meal! But then he kept himself in check. If this is what it took to make up with John, then he'll find away. He'll find a way to make him happy.

~#~

The end!

Hope you liked it and I can't believe how long it's taken to get this up! R&R please :)


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